Endless Longings
by Melissa Sailer
Summary: Raoul and Christine have escaped the Phantom's grasp free to live their life together. Why does Christine struggle to find happiness? Perfect for EC lovers!
1. I

Authors Note:

Hey ya'll! This is my first fic and I would really appreciate it if you leave a review.Since I'm new at this,I would like feedback on ANYTHING! Especially for the confidence to keep this thing going.Thanks! I'm just thrilled that your reading this: )

Lots of love,

M.S

* * *

I

Through her journey to find the Phantom of the Opera, Meg Giry knew her mother would not approve of her following the search party, but she could not subdue her curiosity any longer. What a lovely idea, she thought as the frigid water took away her breath, enveloping her just above the waistline of her tan colored trousers. Meg held her leather satchel and torch high above her wavy blonde hair careful not to douse the light that seemed to comfort her. The dark water itself wasn't very deep and not typically hard to walk through in spots, but the underground canal itself was unsettling. The water was undoubtedly stagnant and reeked with the putrid stench of decay. However, this was the least of the girl's worries. What was most terrifying to Meg was that although the water was only but a few feet deep, as hard as she tried, she could not see her own feet moving on the bank beneath her. Meg tried her hardest to keep her imagination from wondering what else it was she could not see beneath the foul smelling water. The canal was lined with stone pillars that dwarfed the search party of only twenty men; haunting faces of gargoyles adorned the slate gray stonewalls with eyes that seemed to follow. The girl slowly began to realize that she had left the comforting place that she had called home long ago and was now greeted with the unseen tension of a new world. A world full of darkness and solitude, a world where pain and suffering call from within the soft moving waters of the underground and a place where death could be heard in the silence that is death itself. His world. As Meg tried her best to keep up with the party, she was lost in her thoughts.

_I have feared him for so long. Was the Phantom's reign really coming to an end? What will become of him? Why do I care? He is a murderer after all and should be killed after all of the torment he has put upon the good people of the Opera Populaire. I have lived in fear too long to-_

"Over here!" interrupted a voice from up ahead. The water was becoming shallower with every step she took when the canal was lit with an eerie glow. Meg set her eyes on an underground lair, filled with the light of a thousand candles.

The petite girl pushed ahead, climbing out of the lake that surrounded the house. Water poured from her soaked clothes making the already gray stone floor a wet black. She was greeted with hundreds of notes pinned on the walls surrounding a large organ. A fireplace was found on the far left wall of the space encircled by shelves filled with numerous books, most hand written. The "library" walls were covered with art, paintings with dark reds and blacks smeared across the canvas in angry strokes.

The organ was undoubtedly old, but beautiful. Atop the organ She spotted a leather portfolio. Meg picked it up and instantly realized how thick and heavy it was. The once black leather had become dry and faded, and was almost worn through at the edges, barley keeping its purpose. A single black ribbon wrapped tightly around a wooden toggle kept the opening secure.

As the police came ashore, the desolate house on the lake was interrupted by chaos. Shouting of orders broke the silence and soldiers began to raze the library and study looking for any significant evidence of where the Opera Ghost had so suddenly disappeared. Not yet willing to give up her find, Meg quickly shoved the portfolio into the leather satchel, saving its unknown contents from immanent destruction.

Blocking out the pandemonium around her, Meg walked in awe towards a large black door with intricate carvings etched in the wood. With hesitation she reached for the crystal knob with her small hand. The door was surprisingly heavy and took most of her strength to open it. Before entering, she glanced behind her to make sure no one was following, gently closing the door behind her.

The room was rather large and lit with a few strategically placed gold candelabras. A large feather bed sat in the back of the room covered with black silk sheets and a burgundy velvet duvet, black curtains with swooping gold designs shrouded it from the light. She took a few soft steps closer to the bed when she was hit with the realization. _This is where he sleeps_. Next to the bed was a small table made of dark wood and on it set a white porcelain mask, one she was very familiar with. She took the mask in her hands, tracing its curves with her small fingers; the porcelain was smooth and still warm to the touch. The mask itself contained a great deal of expression; the color was pure yet the curve of the brow was filled with resentment. Meg took the mask and placed it into the satchel, next to the leather folder she found on the organ. A marble vase sat on an armoire with fresh red roses, each with a black silk ribbon tied around the stem in a bow. Meg tore a piece of artwork from the wall behind the armoire and was met with Christine's eyes staring back at her. The portrait was simply charcoal on parchment, every line as gentle as the last, not a detail of her face overlooked. If _He_ had been the artist, he definitely had talent. Stepping back from the wall Meg saw that the portrait was only one of over a hundred similar, forming a mural on the gray wall. Meg stared in disbelief at the wall in front of her. She should have been appalled with the clear obsession that presented itself but instead her heart wept. She picked the most beautiful sketch, rolled it gently and tied a bow around it with the white ribbon that was in her hair. After placing the sketch in her satchel Meg took one last look at the room and made her exit, locking the door from the inside.

His house on the lake was destroyed. Books were pulled off the shelves, the couch and chairs ripped and turned upside down. Loose paper floated in the now placid water of the lake. Only a quarter of the soldiers remained, still searching through the library and other rooms attached.

"Keep looking. Send the others to the streets; I want every part of Paris searched! No man is to rest until this murderer is found!" Barked one of the officers

_I don't know why they're wasting their time here; He's too smart for them. The "Opera Ghost" is long gone by now. _Meg thought as she kept herself out of sight.

After listening to the men argue for a moment she watched them cross the lake until they were out of sight. After she was alone Meg crept out from the corner she was hiding behind and stood in the middle of the space observing the destruction. The silence of the house was overwhelming. How could anyone live here alone? She walked by the organ and watched her reflection in the floor length mirrors, broken and distorted. All of the mirrors had a red velvet curtain drawn behind the gold frame…_except the last one, which was strangely covered_. The floor was coated with shards of glass obviously from the third mirror. Meg reached out her hand and felt the velvet with her fingertips and softly pushed the curtain inwards. Where she was expecting to feel the surface of the mirror underneath the curtain her hand _kept moving_. Meg shrieked as she pulled her hand back, watching the curtain swing back and forth.

_There was no mirror._


	2. II

II

He ran. Deep into the cellars of the Opera House to a place where he was sure any half-witted officer would never find him. He ran until his body gave out and tears streamed down his face, tearing through the narrow stone hallways of the labyrinth underneath the Opera, just a breath away from hell. Letting out a roar, he slammed his fists into a wall as he came to a stop, turning on his heels and sliding to the floor. He sat alone, bowed in a dark corner with the shadows he had become accustomed to. Covered in sweat and tears, he sobbed into his hands:

How could I have let her go? She was the spirit of my happiness, the muse of my work, the heart that once did beat inside me. What have I done… oh Christine…

The scene from only hours before played through his head. The lights cast a red glow upon the catwalk as he saw her eyes sparkle, full of desire. He wanted nothing more but to hold her in his arms, to breathe her in. He knew about the trap.

Were they so naive to think he didn't know what was going on inside of his opera house at all times?

He had one last chance, and when he risked everything for her, she exposed him for the monster he is. He thought he was prepared for the consequences of his actions, thinking through every possible outcome.

He acted out of love, only wanting her with him. He meant every word he said, he truly loved her. Christine was his light in the darkness. Now she was with that damn boy. Raoul was nothing but a thorn in his side, he could have killed the little bastard with a single flick of his wrist… if it would have made Christine his.

He was completely physically and mentally exhausted, he hadn't slept in weeks. His muscles ached and his head pounded. His lips still trembled from the kiss they shared. For a moment he thought she could love him, until he realized the kiss was full of pity, and pity was not what he wanted. Not from Christine. He could have never spent his whole life with her knowing she was unhappy, that the kiss was not real. Knowing that he was not what she wanted. In the back of his mind he knew she could never love a monster.

Christine came into his life so suddenly, like stars filling the darkness. The first time I heard her sing I knew she must be mine. I was prepared to do anything to have her by my side, _anything. _Somehow I thought that she would understand, that she would save him.

While wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his now stained white shirt, he let his fingers trace across the distortion that had cursed him from birth. With one deep breath, flames flashed in his eyes as he staggered to his feet and began to walk. His few tears ran cold. By now it was much too late for the Phantom of the Opera, not even his angel could save him from the unending darkness.

* * *

Meg reached out with her hand and pulled the curtain back, tucking it behind the heavy frame of the mirror. What she saw she couldn't believe. Jagged shards of glass still stood from the inside corners of the frame revealing a dark passage.

"How could they have been so blind?" She mumbled underneath her breath.

The passage looked as if it hadn't been used in years, if ever. Meg peered into the abyss unable to see but a few feet in front of her. She felt the darkness could reach out and grab her, pulling her into the unknown. Meg knew he was down there.

She looked around suddenly aware of the silence around her. How long had she been gone? It wouldn't be long before her absence was noticed. She could only imagine the thoughts going through her mother's head as the fire raged upstairs. The Opera Populaire would parish in the flames and her home would be gone. Did she have anything else to lose?

Meg closed her eyes took a deep breath, feeling a chill run down her spine. She gradually opened her eyes and took a candle from a gold candelabra hanging on the wall. Taking one last look at the dungeon around her, she shielded the flame with her small hand as she stepped into the darkness.


	3. III

III

The fire illuminated the night, filling the streets of Paris with dark smoke. Glass of every color littered the cobblestone streets. The bits of glass shaped a shattered mosaic of the once glorious stained glass windows that bejeweled the side of the building. Hundreds of people stood outside trying to account for their friends and family, broken and tired. Surrounded by disorder Madame Giry stood alone, watching the flames engulf the beautiful Opera Populaire.

"Meg!" Madame Giry shouted as she pushed through the crowd, searching for the familiar blonde hair and tiny frame. It had been at least two hours since the Phantom sealed the fate of the opera house. She fought with herself, trying to stay calm. Meg was a smart girl; she would not have spent a minute inside the opera house after it began to burn.

The last time she saw Meg was before she led Monsieur Changy beneath the opera house. She insisted Meg stay where she was but when she returned, her daughter was missing. She could barely hear herself think over roaring of the inferno and the voices of hundreds of people cast unto the streets of Paris. Madame Giry began to feel the harsh burn of panic spreading from her chest to her limbs. She could feel the flames, hot on her face. Could she still be inside? That was when she saw them. Raoul and Christine emerged from the flames hand in hand, both coughing painfully. It was possible they knew something of Meg's whereabouts. She continued forward, pushing towards the charred steps leading to the entrance of the opera house where the couple had emerged when she was forcefully stopped by a policeman patrolling the crowd. She spoke quickly and articulately, making sure that every word was understood. "Monsieur! Have you seen my daughter? Her name is Meg Giry, she is a dancer in the ballet and she has long blonde hair, I must speak with Monsieur Changy-" She was interrupted with a harsh tone. 

"Madame, please stand back! I can't let you cross this line. You should not be here-" He grabbed her, intending to lead her to safety.

She pleaded with him. "I need your help, Monsieur! You do not understand, my daughter--" The young policeman nearly dragged her away, holding her wrist in a viselike grip.

"Everything is going to be alright, no need to become hysterical, Madame."

"You're not listening to me! I need your help, I must speak with-" The officer charged onward, determined to move her from the premises and further away from the couple. She struggled against the officer, each twist of her body enforced the tight hold on her wrist.

"Listen!" In a frustrated rage, Madame Giry used all of her strength to whip her body around and catch the attention of the officer the only way she knew how. Her arm flung, sending the back or her hand colliding with the officer's jaw. The man released and stumbled back a few paces; lifting his hand to wipe away the small trickle of blood that had began to flow from the corner of his mouth. The officer's eyes filled with ferocity as he saw the blood on his gloved hand.

She would not give up. This time she spoke quietly and slowly. "Monsieur, I must find my daughter and I cannot find her without your help-"

Before she finished her sentence the officer took two steps towards her, looking her strait in the eyes before the back of his hand struck her temple, the force of the blow sending her to the ground. The glow of the fire danced and cast shadows across the ground hardly producing enough light to see the boots of the officer disappear.

The crowd had started to thin, only leaving the Paris Fire Brigade behind fighting the flames. The Viscount and Christine were gone. The sky opened with a crack of thunder as she was hit the realization that she may never see her precious ballerina again. That fateful night Madame Giry lay crumpled in the cobblestone streets of Paris, clutching her skirts as gut-wrenching sobs escaped her body. The rain continued to fall mixing the ice-cold rainwater with the bitter tears that ran down her cheeks. 


	4. IV

IV

The tunnel was narrow and dark. She quickly covered her nose with the palm of her hand, shielding herself from smell of the stale and humid air that seemed to invade her lungs. The walls were coated in mold and the ground looked like it had been paved with cobblestone a hundred years before but had since become riddled with cracks. Small pools of water formed where the floor was uneven and broken, making each step more dangerous than the last. Even with the light from her candle, she could see no more than three feet in front of her body.

Meg walked slowly with sure steps, mindful of her footing. It seemed as if she had been walking for ages. What she had thought to be a tunnel had become a labyrinth of twists, turns and forks. She followed theratsthat were scurrying away from her as she walked, trusting that the rodents would lead her in the correct direction.

After what must have been hours, Meg's mind was beginning to fill with doubt. She wondered if her curiosity had sent her spiraling into a quest much deeper than she had imagined. Her feet ached where her damp boots began rubbing blisters on the spots that had already taken a considerable beating through rehearsal while the weight of her satchel had already begun cutting into her small shoulders.

She refused to give up. If she had come this far, her only choice was to push onward. She could never retrace her exact steps anyway. The darkness in the tunnel seemed like a vicious creature awakened by the small girl invading its slumber. It swirled around her avoiding the light, then filling in the void that she had cut in the shadows.

Meg didn't know how much time had passed when the ceiling grew higher and the path wider. The path opened into a hexagonal room where it split into five unmarked corridors, each passageway rougher than the last.

She let out a sigh as she walked over to each, examining where they might take her. She was immediately drawn to the second path from the left that seemed to slope downward, twisting deeper into the caverns. Meg entered the passage with vigilance, following her instincts.

As she kept on, thoughts crept into her head. She worried for her mother's safety, fearing that the journey she had so eagerly chased was an idiotic idea. _She could be going in the wrong direction._ If she didn't find her way out, she could become forever lost in the underground maze.

Feeling the weight of panic settle on her heart, she tried to force the thought out of her mind. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about what might happen to her if she never found her way out. Her imagination started to slip away. Surely she would either dehydrate or starve, suffering as her body slowly shut down. _She would die alone_. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw her lifeless body slowly rotting in the corridor as nourishment for the rats and maggots. Her eyes still open, lips blistered from the lack of water.

Meg quickened her pace, as the passageway grew smaller, closing in from all sides. She gasped for air as she stumbled, causing the candelabra to slip from her fingers, hitting the floor with a toll.

She watched the darkness smother her as the light from her candle dwindled. Meg began to cry, letting the sounds of her sobs reverberate off of the walls. As the darkness greeted her, the sound of her tears and course breathing echoed in her ears. The girl waited in the dark, listening to her ragged breathing slow while she desperately tried to gain back what little bearings she had.

Minutes later, she placed her petite hand on the wall to her left and continued forward using the wall as her guide. She moved slowly, growing more confident with every step, knowing she must keep moving.

Meg Giry kept her pace as the path began to slope downward. With her next step, she became helpless, toppling head over heels down the embankment. She landed with a sickening crunch, only feeling her head swim before she was greeted by cold nothingness.

* * *

"_He'll always be there singing songs in my head…" _She sang beneath her breath tasting each word before it fell from her soft pink lips.

She couldn't sleep, despite the comfort of the down bed and silk sheets that her fiancée had been so gracious to offer. Raoul had brought her to his estate immediately with her safety in mind, making sure they were not being pursued. After Raoul insisted a doctor see them both, Christine was put to bed. She was exhausted from the events of the last few months and "needed all the rest she could get"; but her mind would not let her relax.

Christine Daae lay awake recalling the events of the night.

Her stomach turned as Raoul explained the plan that he and the police had devised.

"Christine, you know this is the only way." His eyes searched her, his hand making its way to her face. His thumb delicately caressed her cheekbone. She knew that risking her life was the only way to catch the Phantom, but she struggled with the idea of performing as bate. In her heart Christine knew that he would never hurt her, yet she was afraid that he might take her, selfishly keeping her for his own.

"Yes, I know." She nodded her head as tears escaped her eyes, managing to force a smile as her fiancée wiped them away.

"It's settled then." He took a gold pocket watch out of his coat pocket. "It's getting awfully close to curtain. Christine, I want you to be properly relaxed before tonight's performance. You should retire to your dressing room and begin getting ready." Raoul said in a nurturing tone, placing a firm kiss on her lips. "I love you."

His kiss comforted her. "I love you too." She stood and crossed the room, stopping at the door. "Raoul? Please be careful."

He nodded. "Now go, Little Lotte."

She smiled at the endearment and exited, his eyes following her as she left.

Christine changed into the Spanish style dress and sat before the vanity on the right side of the room, staring at the reflection of the girl looking back at her. Her face was horribly flushed and her make-up ran and flaked. With a sigh, she began to make herself once again suitable for the stage. She added color to her cheeks and painted her lips with rouge, replicating the natural color that had been drained from her complexion. As she ran a brush through her curls, she noticed the vase of red roses that sat on the vanity, each "gifts" from previous performances. Christine picked one out and smelled it, brushing the velvety petals against her nose. The aroma still as sweet as the day she found it in her room. She had an idea. After removing the black ribbon that was tied gently around the stem, she took out a pair of shears and trimmed it only a few centimeters below the flower. She took her rose and entwined it with the curls above her left ear. Just the accent she needed. The clock read 7:30, leaving her just enough time to make her way to the stage.

The performance had gone unexpectedly smooth, with no sight of the Opera Ghost. She was more confident now and less afraid of anything happening. She took a deep breath as she entered from stage right, holding a basked of blood red roses.

_"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy, No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!"_ She sang joyously, her voice ringing on every note. After all it was true, she wanted nothing more than to be happy with the one she loved.

She sat down on the stage, simply filling in silence as she awaitedMonsieur Piangi's entrance.

When she heard the music cue, it was not MonsieurPiangi's voice she heard. Christine closed her eyes as she felt her heart sink. She knew exactly whose voice it was. No man could ever have such a gorgeous voice as he. Not daring to face him, she realized that the audience had no inclination of the sudden change of cast. She defied her urge to panic. Instead, she locked eyes with Raoul, hopefully conveying the urgency of the situation. She held her breath and decided to go on with the performance.

His voice began to dance and weave around her. She was suddenly helpless at the sound of his song. He was toying with her, slowly pulling her into his power. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, so soft and sensuous and taunting. She felt her skin ignite when his hands found their way to her neck, his hot breath singing in her ear. Christine could feel the passion radiating off of his body. She sang every word for him.

She felt the rush of reality when the singing stopped and a familiar promise replaced it. Christine turned and looked him in the eyes. She had no explanation for what she had done.

Through the night she learned so much about him. The things he did were only out of love, not to cause pain or horror. He simply had passion he was powerless to control. For the first time she saw the man behind the mask, not the monster.

She cared for him. He would always be her angel of music.

Raised voices shook her from her reverie. She listened as Raoul had begun to argue with a police officer.

"Are you an mad? I will not have this man terrorizing Paris! He could be anywhere, because of your incompetence!" Raoul was nearly screaming.

The officer defended himself. "I'm sorry Monsieur Vicomte, but we have searched high and low. There is no trace of the Phantom. We will keep you informed on the progress of the investigation. As for this night, there is nothing more we can do."

A smile found it's way onto her lips. Her angel was alive. As she felt her body relax, Christine heard his familiar voice lull her to sleep.

* * *

Raoul walked the man to the door. "Be assured Monsieur, if our man is not found there will be hell to pay. I will make sure of it."

The officer's eyes grew wide. "Yes Monsieur Vicomte." He said with haste, making his way onto the steps that led to the streets.

"One more thing Monsieur." The officer stopped in his tracks, his back turned. "When this man is brought into custody, I don't care whether he is dead or alive." He hissed.

The officer simply nodded and then continued on his way.


	5. V

V

He found Meg Giry lying in a shallow puddle undoubtedly unconscious. Her clothes were soaked and the faint metallic smell of blood lingered in the air around her. The girl had seemingly taken a harsh fall down a steep embankment that appeared to be nearly fifteen feet above where she lay.

He kneeled next to the girl, inspecting her in the light. He gently placed two fingers on her Carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Concentrating harder, he applied more pressure until he felt a very faint throb beneath his fingertips.

She was lucky to be alive considering how much blood it appeared she had lost. Her white blouse was stained shades of red.

_She would most certainly die if I left her here._

Erik became overwhelmed with a sense of obligation, surprised that he had an ounce of emotion left.

She took the form of a lifeless doll as he took her in his arms, heavy and indolent, her mouth agape. Moving swiftly, he carried her through the twists and turns of the catacombs, carefully watching for any changes in her condition.

The tunnels beneath Paris had become like a second home to him, letting him navigate the city undetected while using the many above ground entrances the normal Parisian had left unnoticed. Most of the paths he was accustomed to were relatively easy to navigate without much difficulty, while others were considerably dangerous. Branching from most tunnels were various rooms, staircases and underground wells. The tunnels wove beneath the city like roots, absorbing everything unwanted by Paris. He was not the only one that benefited from the use of the catacombs. Various fugitives and groups used them for meetings or a safe haven while some homeless took shelter from the weather.

The catacombs were undoubtedly a dangerous place, definitely not a place for a young girl. Meg Giry had most likely entered the tunnels the same way he had earlier that night… but for what reason?

He carried her into a familiar space he had temporarily resided in years ago while the Opera Populaire and his home beneath it were under construction. Considerably smaller than the house, this space consisted of a larger area attached to a lesser circular shaped room that he had once used as a bedroom. He designated the area a provisional residence, adding some belongings and securing it using a sturdy door to keep out intruders. After the construction was completed he moved into his house on the lake and began using the space for storage of various food, extra supplies and old furniture. The room was filled with crates and not as clean as he would like, but it would have to do.

He laid the ballerina onto a small bed in the circular room for immediate attention, slightly elevating her head and shoulders and untangling an old shoulder bag that was wrapped around her body and tossing it aside.

Sterility and infection were going to be a problem considering the environment and lack of supplies. He realized he must make do with what he could find.

Quickly he began rifling through an old armoire on the other side of the room. Pulling out drawers one by one until he found a quilt and an extra set of dressings for the bed. He took one of the sheets and ripped it into long strips for the necessary bandages.

Meg's gold hair was stained red just above her left temple, matted by the blood that had dried on her scalp. The girl was trembling. He took the piece of cloth and applied pressure around the wound where she still appeared to be bleeding from, careful not to cause further damage. When he was sure that the bleeding had ceased, he left to momentarily retrieve a basin of water from the nearby well.

He then took careful deliberation in cleaning the rather severe wound on her head by gently washing the blood and dirt away. Although quite harsh, the extreme excess of blood that had shined on her face and head before made the cut look worse than it was. The injury would probably need stitched, but would have to be done when he could find the right materials.

When clean, he applied a strip of the linen as an improvised cravat to hold the compress in place, applying the correct amount of pressure.

"What am I going to do with you?" He sighed as he touched her cheek with the back an ungloved hand. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was ashen and moist. Dark bruises had begun forming beneath her eyes and near her swollen cheekbone and temple. An unconscious ballerina was the last thing he needed in the given situation. The once adventurous ballet rat looked broken before him. Her clothes were still damp and tarnished with her own blood, noticing she had sharp abrasions on her hands an forearms where she had tried to stop her fall. Meg's small frame began trembling, either from the loss of blood or shock he wasn't sure. Either way, her damp clothes were not helping.

He removed each of her waterlogged riding boots and set them beside the bed before easing the stained blouse off her shoulders, careful not to budge her head. He wasted no time before he wrapped her in the quilt, tucking her in tightly.

The treatment he provided was all he could do for her. All Erik could do now was wait for nature to take its course. He sunk into an old chair and rested his head against the high back. As he felt his body relax and give into exhaustion, he wished for a sleep free of the angel that haunted his dreams.

* * *

**Sorry that this has taken so long to post! Along with technical difficulties (my laptop's hard drive crashed and I lost everything) I feel horrible because I hardly have time to write anything besides Shakespeare explication papers and countless other papers for my American Lit. class... yuck! Anyways, I wanted to leave a note expressing my sadness that the story only has one review. Besides feeling pathetic in the world of I feel like the story has no readers! If you are out there please give me a little shout out with comments, concerns or any suggestions...even if you just want to say hi! **

**Mel** **:D**

**PS: I promise that chapter six will be here soon!**


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